


A Demon By My Side

by Statari



Series: A Demon [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Smut, Frenemies, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Psychological Torture, Reunion Sex, Season 05 Episode 12 - The Beginning, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Statari/pseuds/Statari
Summary: Ten years have passed.  Bruce Wayne is finally coming home.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Series: A Demon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028248
Comments: 17
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A short chapter that follows the events of my other story. You probably don't have to read it but... why wouldn't you want to? Go! Read that first. Welcome back to anyone who already has. Major spoilers for the series finale "The Beginning".

Gordon carried his daughter to safety before Jeremiah opened his eyes and sat up. The walkway was empty now, still no sign of the interloper. Glee bubbled up in his chest as vibrant and merry as the vat below. He held up his right hand and gave the impaled appendage another look. Taking hold of the blade, he ripped it from his flesh.

A bat.

The laugh grew from a delighted giggle to an echoing cackle that bounced off the walls of the abandoned factory. Jeremiah rolled back and to the side lifting to his feet, uncaring of the twinge of pain from his hand.

He leaned over the vat and peered into the darkness across, searching out the culprit. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. 

“Very interesting,” he said, eyes flicking to either side without turning around. “A bat. It’s a good choice. Although I do wonder...”

Jeremiah turned and was forced to look up along the length of a broad chest covered in black kevlar. Custom, expensive armor designed to balance protection and range of motion. Must've cost quite a few pretty pennies to have something like it made. He looked up into eyes painted black and hidden behind a rubber mask. Complete with spiky little bat ears. 

Patting the kevlar and leaving a bloody handprint, Jeremiah mused, “I do wonder what made you choose a bat.”

“Bats frighten me,” a very gruff, very masculine voice told him.

“And you want them to frighten me too?” Nice try. No such luck. 

Breath left Jeremiah’s lungs in a rush when a padded fist collided with his ribcage. Jeremiah threw out his arms to hold on to the railing but it was too late. He fell. The bubbling green liquid in the vat enveloped him. 

It was beautiful. 

Sinking to the bottom of the tank, Jeremiah got his feet under him and shoved. He broke the surface with an exaggerated gasp of air, falling back against the metal edge.

The Bat-man was towering above him on the cat walk. 

Jeremiah threw his elbows back and lounged on the railing around the edge of the tank, blinking his eyes to clear them. His legs floated up in front of him and the toes of his shoes bobbed over and below the surface.

“Come on in, the water’s fine!” he called up, sloshing water over the edge with a sweep of his arm.

The Bat didn’t respond except to turn and walk towards the stairs. Jeremiah allowed the bubbling water to turn him over until he was floating on his stomach. He propped his chin on the edge and grinned at coming face to face with dark eyes and grim mouth. So rigid. So controlled. Jeremiah would just have to fix that.

Jeremiah giggled. “It’s been ten years, did Jim Gordon really expect there to still be acid here?” he wondered aloud. His eyes narrowed. Some people were so slow and stupid it was hardly worth the effort of working with them. Gordon was usually worth a little bit of play time. But Jeremiah had chosen a far better, more consistent playmate for himself and gotten exactly what he wanted by luring Gordon here.

Once again he found himself bodily manipulated as a hand fisted in the back of his jacket. With surprising strength he was hauled over the rim of the tank, it’s edge dragging across buttons and scraping his thighs. A truly wonderful surprise. He couldn’t have asked for a better gift.

Dropped to the floor, Jeremiah rolled over onto his back and laughed. 

“You had his daughter,” the Bat rasped, “He wasn’t thinking at all.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “Sentimental,” he spat. 

The Bat squatted beside him. He was nearly completely obscured by shadow now, the green light of the vat now behind him. Jeremiah could appreciate his style. He had flair.

“And you’re not?” The Bat asked.

The smile that grew on his lips now was softer, he wondered if it might even be considered fond if it wasn’t on his face in particular. “I have missed you, darling.”

They clasped hands and the Bat pulled Jeremiah to his feet. Jeremiah allowed himself to be pulled off balance and splayed himself into comfortably strong arms. He tilted his chin and stared at that grim line of lips. He needed to see them slack and shining with spit, Jeremiah’s spit. 

He stole a kiss from that unresponsive mouth, wriggling his tongue past and attacking the closed teeth behind them. Withdrawing, he dragged the tip of his tongue back and forth along the Bat’s bottom lip.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he hissed. He bit the bottom lip gently and breathed against it. “Our connection?”

Claimed with a demanding mouth against his own, Jeremiah bathed in the sudden overwhelming attention the same way he had bathed in the vat of misleading torture. He opened under the onslaught. It was uncomfortable, suffocating, and one of the best kisses he’d ever been subjected to.

They parted and Jeremiah’s eyes sharpened on a cheekbone hidden behind a mask. Jeremiah bared his teeth. “As charming as your new style may be, I’m finding it terribly inconvenient at this precise moment.”

He lifted his hands to either side, intent on finding a way to pull it off. 

Or cut it off. 

“No.” The Bat stopped him. “I have more to do tonight.”

Jeremiah pulled away, eyelashes fluttering in irritation. Ten years he’d been waiting. The time for waiting and planning was over. It was time to fuck or fight.

He was seized, spun, and shoved up against the wall. His head collided with the bricks, it ached beautifully but it wasn’t enough. Jeremiah wanted blood and spit, bruises over every inch of skin shared between them. He kneed the Bat in the kidney but it barely made the man grunt. Armor. How quaint.

An arm across his collarbone pushed him back, the razor crest along the edge of it pressed against his throat and immobilized him. 

Jeremiah felt a dazed, loving fog sweep over him.

“Meet me at home.” The bat swept a judging look over Jeremiah’s wet and bedraggled attire. “Clean yourself up.”

Jeremiah’s laughter echoed in the empty space the Bat left behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeremiah reunites with Bruce at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sweet and spicy treat for the holiday season kick off! A little bit of architecture, a little bit of psychology, and a little bit of smut. I hope you enjoy.

Upon approach, Wayne Manor looked as grand and proper as it ever had. It towered above the circular drive in the same way, its wings reaching out to cradle incoming visitors within its cold embrace. The windows were new with clear, clean glass and slim, modern profiles. The front door was tall and wide, made of wood to appear warm but reinforced with steel to make it strong.

Inside, Wayne Manor was anchored to its past by a few key spaces. The entry was a tall and hollow statement of wealth and grandeur. The kitchen was in the same location, filled with resilient granite countertops and shining new appliances that were large enough to sustain four families. And the office, with its traditional wood paneling, large fireplace, and ornate desk was nearly an exact replica of the same room in the exact same location from the previous structure. 

Sentimental, Jeremiah knew. A rare indulgence for one so disciplined.

Aside from those few spaces, much of the manor had shrugged off the weight of tradition's expectations and embraced its new life. Bedrooms had shifted and nestled into new private corners of the house. Bathrooms were like luxurious little jewels hidden in the dark. The master suite, being the crowning glory, occupied its own floor of the western wing with a his and hers bathroom that wouldn't see a woman for many years to come.

Faithful to tradition or not, these were the spaces that Alfred had helped design in endless meetings with the most prestigious architect left in Gotham. Presumably he had some idea of what Bruce Wayne would want out of his adult life and the house in which he would live it. Whether or not Bruce Wayne had been in contact with his butler was something of a mystery but since Alfred acted with authority, authority was given to him.

Jeremiah knew every inch of these conventional spaces, had lovingly engineered the structural, mechanical, and electrical systems using five separate identities for three separate companies in order to diffuse any suspicion. 

It would have been a mind-numbingly mundane task had that been all there was to Bruce Wayne’s new home. 

The most interesting elements of Wayne Manor were the elements that no visitor would ever be invited to see. Beneath the mask of the Wayne family legacy, brand new foundations stretched deep into the bat-infested caves beneath. Hidden between the foundation pillars was a fully designed network of catacombs with new and dark intent. Inspired by the bat roosts found there and the lingering dream of Bruce calling the same creatures to attack his enemies, Jeremiah built his masterpiece. It had all the independence and fortification of Jeremiah’s bunker combined with the technological advances and weaponry of a military installation. 

Completely separate, it could operate independent of the manor above with full control of environmental systems. All of it was powered by three of Jeremiah’s generators, tied together for redundancy and future expansion. Ten years was a long time and Jeremiah had spent every day perfecting his design and watching for any sign of Bruce’s whereabouts. 

Bruce was difficult to track and the longest stretch of time he'd gone without a sign was two and a half years. Every once and awhile, Bruce would send him a package before he left an area entirely, little clues as to his training and his goals. Once, just a little love note commenting on installation of the generators with an insistence on safety measures for detonations. Jeremiah had nearly exploded with affection.

Now, the same overwhelming love made it difficult to stick to the shadows of the grounds as he approached one of the many hidden entrances. He descended into the dark and damp before emerging into the clean, bright cavern where Lucius had been setting up the computer system, last he heard, in preparation for Bruce’s return.

Bruce had been back in Gotham for longer than anyone else was aware. Evidence of this was visible in the spaces Jeremiah had designed. He had left much of it blank, waiting for Bruce to decide how to use them before putting in final touches. Now there was an empty armor stand, a black motorcycle, and several tables strewn with mechanical parts. It was finally lived in by the man it had been designed to protect.

The man in question was sitting on a stool under an arm light, his back turned.

Jeremiah tiptoed slowly forward to absorb the new breadth of his shoulders, swathed in a black undershirt. The angle of a jaw that had once been soft with his youth was sharp now, peppered with stubble. 

"Did you take a shower, at least?" Bruce asked without turning around. 

The trust was as intoxicating as the new rumble in his voice. Jeremiah closed the distance and pressed his chest against Bruce’s back. "For you, my darling, of course I did."

He hooked his chin over one shoulder. Bruce was fiddling with a shoulder plate. 

"All clean and dry," Jeremiah pointed out, salivating in his need for Bruce to turn around and focus on him at long last. He’d put on his best suite, a black pinstripe reminiscent of the one he’d worn many years ago for Bruce’s birthday. The last time they’d stood together in this house.

“Do you like our new home, Bruce?” Jeremiah whispered teasingly against one ear. Bruce wore a different cologne now than he used to, but most of it had worn off under hours spent in costume. His thermal shirt still smelled faintly of rubber. His eyes tracked a faint tremor, a shiver in response to Jeremiah. He drank it in and catalogued the options in front of him to provoke more reactions like that.

“I wasn’t sure if it was really ours,” Bruce commented, turning the shoulder plate over and tucking pieces of padding back into place. He put it down and waved a hand around at the cavernous space around them. “It was rather empty when I got here.”

Jeremiah considered what Bruce might mean. “I wanted you to decide how you wanted to use it.”

Bruce turned. He was just the same yet undeniably a man now. He looked tired, eyes bruised and tinged with leftover bits of black greasepaint. He looked world weary. It hurt, made Jeremiah want to stake his claim. Bruce had grown up on his own, without Jeremiah and it was a fucking miracle that Jeremiah had let him. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” Jeremiah deflected, pulling away like he wasn’t sure what Bruce could possibly be alluding to. He did. He knew because it had been the hardest fucking decision he’d ever made and he’d only managed it by planning his party.

“You weren’t here. Why not?” Bruce turned on his stool and gazed up so steadily at Jeremiah.

“I was planning your welcome home surprise.” Jeremiah smiled with a dopey, dreaming expression Bruce wouldn’t fall for at all. “Did you enjoy it?”

“More than Gordon did…” The reproach in his voice meant absolutely nothing. 

“Barbara Lee was never in any danger. She was with her Uncle Jeremiah, of course, and I actually like the little brat. All that spunk reminds me of Ecco. Poor, dearly departed Ecco.”

“Barbara is going to kill you when she gets her hands on you.”

Jeremiah sat across Bruce’s thighs and slung an arm around his impressively toned shoulders. “She’s welcome to try.”

Bruce gripped Jeremiah’s chin and tilted his face with the same unforgiving force he’d used last time. Jeremiah could not breathe, only search Bruce’s face for any clue as to what he might be thinking or feeling. He had only just begun to understand the inner workings when it was taken from him and changed. How much had changed?

“Why weren’t you here?” Bruce asked. He refused to be distracted now, that was a change. His childhood self would have gladly complained about Jeremiah’s methods using a child in his games. Bruce added, “You didn’t break our deal, did you?”

Jeremiah whimpered and tucked his face under Bruce’s jaw. “You know I didn’t.”

“Then talk to me.” His voice vibrated in his throat and chest. 

“I missed you,” Jeremiah whispered. He clawed at the shirt on Bruce’s chest when the fear bubbled up and threatened to overwhelm him. It was worse than after the bridges fell when he had thought Bruce lost to him forever. He had nearly convinced himself that Bruce would return to that cold state of wanting nothing to do with him and clung to the script of their former antipathy and antagonism. It had been so much more fun than even memories of old times.

“You were afraid,” Bruce observed.

Jeremiah stiffened. 

“While I was gone, I learned the value of fear. I’ve even learned how to wield it as a weapon,” Bruce explained in such a calm and reasonable tone of voice that Jeremiah wanted to punch him in the kidney now that he wasn’t armored. He didn’t have the leverage, though. 

Bruce continued. “But I would never wield a fear like that against you. Our connection is as undeniable now as it ever was. Just look around, only you could have built something so perfect for who I am now. You didn't even need me to explain it.”

Jeremiah had so many questions. Where did Bruce learn about fear? Who had taught him? How did Bruce intend to wield fear and upon whom? Most importantly, to what end? What did Bruce want to accomplish? Whatever it was, Jeremiah was almost certainly willing to help see it through. His questions clamored for attention against the delirious whitenoise of joy buzzing in his head at Bruce’s approval. 

"Against whom would you wield this fear?" he finally gasped.

"Anyone who would take advantage of our city," he growled. 

A shiver raced down Jeremiah’s spine.

"Anyone?"

"Anyone," he confirmed with brutal honesty, a gust of breath against Jeremiah’s cheek.

That was it. That was the last of Jeremiah’s control. He spun and slung his leg over Bruce’s lap. Bruce had other plans. He pivoted and lifted Jeremiah up to sit on the tabletop with a single move. Jeremiah clenched his thighs and hooked his ankles together to keep them tangled up in one another. 

“Even me?” Jeremiah pushed with a groan.

Bruce pulled Jeremiah back into an arch by his hair. “Especially you.”

"We will have the best fights," Jeremiah cooed in delight. "The whole city will see how we dance and no one will dare cut in."

Bruce growled again and his impatient hands were sure to leave bruises. Everywhere he touched Jeremiah, he laid claim. Hips, wrists. Jeremiah tilted his chin up when those demanding hands swept up his chest and lingered at his neck. Bruce barely hesitated before letting his hand tighten there too. Jeremiah keened in delight at the increased pounding of his pulse as it struggled to get past Bruce’s fingers.

Bruce relented, letting his hand rest on Jeremiah’s throat while he leaned down to lick Jeremiah’s ear. "Are you going to take all of me, Jeremiah? Like you planned?"

"Yesss," Jeremiah hissed, eyes rolling back in his head. 

“Then show me the space you carved out for us to be together,” Bruce demanded.

Cool air rushed between them when Jeremiah unhooked his legs and shoved Bruce away. Bruce was ready. He'd been waiting for this for years, planning for ever since he'd decided to return. Every line of his body was an open challenge. 

Jeremiah took it up. They met in the middle with a wild and consuming kiss that was exactly as he remembered and entirely too practiced. There was a person out there in the world, maybe more than one, who had tasted these lips. Jeremiah would cut out their tongues if he could get Bruce to give up their names. Bruce never would. Jeremiah would have to focus on making sure that no matter who Bruce kissed from now on, it would be Jeremiah on his mind. 

The star of the show. Always. No matter what.

There was a room, hidden even in a secret base, that Jeremiah had allowed himself. At first it had been a retreat when the noise of the work crews gave him a headache, but the more time he spent there, the safer he felt, the more he felt at home. He had made it his own and sealed it off from the remaining spaces. Only he and Bruce would ever have access. 

This refuge of theirs retained more of the original cave than almost any other space. It had jagged, arching ceilings and even a stream of water cutting through the floor along one side. Hidden lights cast harsh relief across the uneven surface of each wall. A rug protected their feet on the way to the bed. The bathroom was through a carved opening, nothing more than a curtain to block it off. There was a desk but no computer, just a small stack of books and a notebook Jeremiah had been using to keep track of the clues he’d gathered about Bruce over the years.

“Do you like it?” Jeremiah asked.

Bruce hummed, examining the space. He trailed his fingertips across the covers of the books and turned to face Jeremiah. "I think it's my favorite room so far. Feels like you."

It was intoxicating. Having Bruce here, in Jeremiah’s room within Jeremiah’s carefully crafted construction, was like getting hit with insanity gas all over again. He bubbled with delirious laughter and disbelief. Bruce was here after all this time and he wanted Jeremiah to take everything there was left to take. 

Jeremiah bounced forward and wrapped Bruce up in his arms. He missed the slight form in his memory but reality was so much sweeter. 

"You say the nicest things," he chuckled, pulling Bruce’s shirt up overhead.

There were new muscles and scars alike to study and absorb. Hair had grown more profusely across his sternum and down past his bellybutton. Jeremiah pet the coarse black hair and thumbed a neat scar hidden underneath. 

"A life without me has marked you," Jeremiah whispered with dangerous intensity. It was a sudden and stark reminder that he hadn't been there when these scars had been made. He didn't know the story. And when Bruce looked upon them… it wasn't Jeremiah that he saw. There should be no room for people who were not Jeremiah or experiences that did not involve Jeremiah. 

Warm, calloused hands enveloped his. Bruce tilted his head to meet Jeremiah’s eyes. "It wasn't a life without you," Bruce said.

Jeremiah quivered, growing angry. "It was," he hissed. 

One shove and Bruce was on his back, spread arms across Jeremiah’s perfectly smoothed comforter. His pale, picked skin looked so good against the dark purple satin. Jeremiah shrugged off his coat and waistcoat in quick succession. "I let you go because I knew you wouldn't be able to forget me while I was here building us a home. Every moment you spent missing the city that defines you was a moment spent thinking about me, wasn't it? Tell me you thought of me."

Bruce was breathing heavily now, but remarkably composed as he said, "Of course I did, Jeremiah. I could barely stop thinking about you. You were always in my head."

He tore several buttons loose, ripping the shirt open.

"Tell me what you thought, when you thought of me. Tell me which dark corners I lingered in that made it difficult to escape. Tell me what I already own so that I may claim what remains," Jeremiah insisted. He shoved his pants down and kicked them off with his shoes. He fell on Bruce and kissed him so fiercely that there was no room for an answer.

Naked. Bruce needed to be naked too.

Jeremiah and Bruce met in the middle, both scrambling for the elastic waistband of Bruce’s sweatband at the same time. Jeremiah relinquished his efforts and got up just long enough to retrieve the bottle of lubricant from the tray under the bedframe. He settled astride Bruce again, this time both gloriously bare and pressed against one another.

Bruce was rising firm and proud, perfection in his arousal. His mouth watered over the glistening head. It had been far too many years and even his own impressive memory could not retain every nuance of the experience of sucking on Bruce Wayne's cock until he came. Jeremiah dropped his mouth on it, opening wide and drinking up every last drop of moisture he could find. 

"Fuck, Jeremiah!"

Jeremiah blinked. When had he ever heard something so crude from his sweetheart's lips? He sank lower, hoping to hear more. He pouted when all it accomplished was a frustrated growl and Bruce pulling him off his dick entirely. But since Bruce pulled on his hair and dragged him into a kiss, he didn't complain.

Bruce’s tongue was everywhere, mapping Jeremiah with the same desperate fervor that Jeremiah mapped him. Yet his hands explored with purpose at the same time, pushing and pressing on flesh until he palmed Jeremiah’s ass. Jeremiah had chosen well, all those years ago, when he had chosen Bruce.

"I'm going to fuck myself on you," Jeremiah promised. "Do you want to get me ready for you?"

It was a rhetorical question. He barely registered the eager nodding before he squeezed out some lube onto outstretched fingers. He knelt up and draped himself on Bruce’s chest as those cool, slick fingers began their quest. They teased at his rim and pressed at the opening without pressing in. Jeremiah sucked on Bruce’s neck, digging his teeth in and sucking blood up to the grooves he left behind. When his mark was tender and darkening, he moved on to another spot and sucked in another.

Bruce breached him. 

Jeremiah groaned and rocked back on the finger. “More,” he demanded.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “You think I have not used my own fingers to satisfy my dreams of you? I want more. Now. Stretch me.”

“Greedy,” Bruce chastised even as he indulged it by shoving a second finger in beside the first.

“For you,” Jeremiah agreed magnanimously.

“For me.”

Jeremiah didn’t have to demand a third finger. No sooner had Jeremiah adjusted, Bruce was adding it of his own initiative. But with his cock leaking between their bodies and Jeremiah writhing on top of him, was it any wonder that his patience was beginning to wear thin? Someday soon Jeremiah wouldn’t just take Bruce’s cock like this, he would take Bruce’s anger and frustration, maybe even his hatred. He would take aches and pains, bruises, lacerations. Everything. By then, Bruce would want to give him all those things.

Trembling from head to toe at the mere thought, Jeremiah whined. He wanted all of it, now. Every good plan took time, but he didn’t want to have to wait for the plan to unfold. 

Bruce placed his free hand between Jeremiah’s shoulderblades. It was a warm, heavy weight on the cooling sweat dripping there. “What going on in your head?” he asked into the damp hair at his temple.

“You,” Jeremiah explained. The laugh he got in return fanned across his face. He turned for a kiss and got one, gentle and reassuring rather than claiming and deep. 

“Why am I not surprised?” Bruce whispered with a little laugh.

“Because you are mine.” Jeremiah clenched down on the fingers in his ass and shifted his hips just so. A tremor wracked his body at the stimulation of his prostate. “My best friend, even after all this time.”

Bruce reclaimed his fingers, pulling them free with a small squelch. Jeremiah frowned, clenching down on nothing but emptiness. He shoved Bruce flat on his back and crawled over him. He positioned his ass over Bruce’s cock, ready to take what was his at last. He stared down at Bruce’s face, salivating in his anticipation. He swallowed. Drool would be so inelegant, however appropriate. 

A cry of disappointment. Bruce gripped his hips and flipped them over. Jeremiah was now the one pinned, his legs spread, without the leverage he needed to be able to take.

“Calm down. I told you I didn’t want to hurt you.” Bruce was reaching for the lube. 

Jeremiah rolled his eyes. He plastered himself to Bruce and invaded his private, erotic places with his hands as a distraction. Across his throat, over his shoulders, under his arms. Down over his nipples, past his hips. Jeremiah teased a finger down between his cheeks. Warm and sweaty with their arousal and effort. Jeremiah would bury his face there to prepare Bruce for taking what he wanted later tonight.

Bruce managed to slick his cock, even though he cursed the distraction of wandering hands. When he took his hand off and braced it by Jeremiah’s head, Jeremiah wrapped arms and legs around his body and threw him over. He followed again, determined to do this right. There was only one way this could be right now. Bruce would comply and Bruce would love it.

“Is your conscience satisfied, my love?” Jeremiah crooned.

Growling, Bruce gripped the base of his dick. “You’ll thank me in the morning when you’re ready to go again.”

Jeremiah took it inside himself. He sat up, eyes fluttering against the immense satisfaction swamping him. He had craved this very moment for so many years that he wondered if it would ever manifest. It had. He had brought it about at last. The hard, hot length of Bruce’s desire for him was seated firmly where it belonged. In Jeremiah. He rippled around it, watching the way wrinkles of pleasured pain rolled across Bruce’s face. It was glorious.

Jeremiah rocked his hips.

Bruce gasped. A tiny sound, choked off and self conscious. 

That wouldn’t do at all.

Jeremiah lifted up on his knees. The drag of skin, the shift of pressure. He savored every moment. The delicious ache, both to be filled and to be empty. A mess of contradictions, just like his beloved. He slammed back down. The cry he got was louder this time. Spurred on by the reaction, he began to move in earnest, lifting and dropping his hips in a wild and frantic beat that could hardly be considered a true rhythm. When his thighs grew tight, he rolled his hips and stimulated himself. His breath grew ragged.

Bruce looked delirious. His pupils were blown, his hair a mess. He was gazing up at Jeremiah like they were the last two people on the planet. Jeremiah had never felt more powerful. Lifting a hand, Bruce touched fingertips to his lips. Jeremiah opened his mouth and sucked on them. He felt his balls draw up. He bit down on the fingers, screwed his eyes shut and came with a groan.

Spend coated Bruce’s stomach. Bruce didn’t mind, clearly too lost to register the mess. He pulled his fingers free and took hold of Jeremiah’s hips. Jeremiah pitched forward on his hands as Bruce flattened his feet on the bed and drove up into his willing body. Again and again, using Jeremiah to find his pleasure without consideration for pleasure in return. It was overwhelming, delicious. When Bruce finally brought their hips together and held them still, he groaned, loud and long. Jeremiah pressed his lips to Bruce’s adam’s apple to feel the vibrations.

He waited, still and ready, while a heat spread through his ass and filled him up. He would need a plug. Jeremiah wanted this feeling to last forever, now that he’d had a taste. Perhaps he could still be full of Bruce’s come, one day when he fucked Bruce in return. Owning and owned.

Sinking down on top of Bruce with a contented sigh, Jeremiah snuggled into the light chest hair. 

“Are you content?” Bruce asked, sounding out of breath.

“No.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Jeremiah lifted up. Bruce’s soft cock slipped free. Come and lube oozed from his slack hole. 

“Because you are mine,” Jeremiah confirmed in a lovingly sing-song voice. He kissed Bruce on the lips, on the nose, and on each closed eye. “And I promised you that I would never stop, not even when you begged me to.”

Bruce pulled Jeremiah close. “I may beg you for a lot of things, but I’ll never beg you to stop,” he promised.

Even after the light snores of Bruce’s slumber began, Jeremiah stayed awake. He watched Bruce, breathed him in, touched his skin. They were together at long last.

Jeremiah was never going to let him go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos and comment are like... black Friday deals without the lines. Yes. That!

**Author's Note:**

> I did it! I wrote a sequel! Well, this is just the first part of it. I hope you like the mildly antagonistic reunion. Mildly, because let's face it, Jeremiah is just throwing a welcome home party at this point. Smut in the next chapter and a brief glimpse at how Jeremiah has been occupying himself.


End file.
